And The Gentle Shall Persevere
by smolder
Summary: A great deal of time Aslan feels he has wronged her somewhere along the line – because none of this is Susan's fault but she has surely taken the brunt of it.
1. chapter 1: soft footed and sloemn

Disclaimer: I own nothing. C.S. Lewis owns the Narnia series.

A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

A/N 2: Just so you know, I will be pulling from both the books and the movies.

* * *

A great deal of time Aslan feels he has wronged her somewhere along the line – because none of this is Susan's fault but she has surely taken the brunt of it.

Because indeed, it is only the Queen who has been titled most "Gentle" that had the strength to survive outside of Narnia, in the world of their birth – a world that did not look at the Pevensie's as Kings and Queens. (Although Aslan knows he is guilty of marking them. That if one dares to actually look closely – something few do – they will see the regal bearing in the young bodies, the age in their eyes.)

Back in Narnia that day, after they had returned by the Horn's call and fought for their land alongside Caspian, he told both Peter and her that they would never return again to this place they loved. And perhaps just as importantly that they must now seek him in their world instead.

Both were crushed by this news, so firmly delivered, and while Peter turned inward and pulled his younger siblings around him, _Susan_ pushed away.

He doesn't know why they all assumed she was being consumed by material things - make up, boys, and such – as Queen she was surely tempted by clothes, gems, and suitors to a much greater extent and never gave into vanity. Never once let her responsibility to Narnia falter.

Instead Susan was seeking, looking about her world and the people in it in a way she had never done before. And when she noticed that none of her siblings were following this path she became stubborn, shut that door between them with a slam that almost echoed.

Because Susan was the only one among them able to smile and tilt her head, to answer trite questions about weather and school without going insane, without pulling in and refusing to move on (_because if she gave in even a little bit, everything would crash and burn – she would never be able to do it at all_). An entire lifetime of ruling with her siblings in a place where animals not only spoke but had a place in Court, played in the recesses of her imagination as she went through the motions of what a normal girl should do until it felt natural, less like working the strings of a marionette. Until that laugh she heard come from her own lips didn't make her wince.

It is stupid to think she forgot - why would Susan, the most fastidious among them have forgotten even a single detail? Why, it was her memories of that past life that helped her navigate the present. Let her keep her composure - face calm and pleasant, as she sat still and silent with her parents and their friends (_So mature_, they would comment later – _Why Helen, did you send her to finishing school?_).

That made it easy to flirt back with persistent boys in such a way that they didn't realize they were being firmly brushed off and then somehow remain friends in the end. (_She had always been paired with Edmund for diplomatic relations. And people always thought she was there just to be the pretty - never expecting the shrewd mind behind the face of the Gentle Queen - and that had worked out rather well for them_.)

Aslan is proud of her.

It is only later, after he takes her entire family - so suddenly and so violently - that Aslan knows he must step in.

Because she is so badly shaken – doubting herself, her choices, her _existence_. And she shouldn't, she _never_ should. More than being a Queen of Narnia, she is _Susan_. Susan Pevensie – who has built herself into a wonderful person here, a young woman always always searching.

And that is such a _good_ thing.

In her dream-scape now though, Susan is crying. She is lying prone upon the alter where he was once sacrificed and it has been broken yet again. Surrounding it are graves: Beloved Mother, Beloved Father, Peter the Magnificent, Edmund the Just, Lucy the Valiant, Friend Jill, Friend Eustace, Professor Kirke, and Aunt Polly.

She doesn't hear him approach; soft footed and solemn in this barren place her mind has created where even the ground seems dead: cracked and rough beneath his feet (and no other plants in sight as far as the eye can see - just parched dirt).

"Aslan," she breathes, looking up and blinking through tears, after he brushes his nose against her down turned head. Her eyes are bloodshoot (_a real world aspect pulled through from a long day of mass funerals where all her family was buried – or what was left of them. Conversely, to this landscape, it was raining in England - it pounded upon the Church roof and muted the priest to her ears, she could listen to nothing but it's song and for that moment Susan hadn't been there - she hadn't been anywhere. Suspended and floating out of time like a wonderful hug, she had felt grateful for the respite - then jarred when everyone stood to go out to the grave site and reality had intruded. Harsh and horrible. She had floundered for her composure, built it around her knowing it would break later._) She looks at him like she doesn't believe her own eyes. "Have I died?" she asks and the question is phrased as such a hopeful thing, that if he had a corporeal heart it would break for her.

"No, Daughter of Eve," he says firmly and her face falls.

"What did I do wrong?" she asks, her face open and imploring, looking so very young (_she is still so very young_), stripped of any make up or attempt at guile. "I thought you said – that you wanted us to…" she stumbles over words, her dark his loose and falls forward hiding her face.

"Oh Susan," he says sadly, "you did nothing wrong."

"But then why can't I-?" she starts to asks, looking up at him - eyes wide and desperate.

"You are still living in the world in which you were born – finding me, finding your _Narnia _there. Just as I asked you to," he explains, smiling at her, gentle, warm and proud.

But she is not comforted by this. "The others –"

"Someday you will join them," when she still seems unsettled, Aslan explains a bit more. "The only thing I can say you were guilty of perhaps was being resilient enough of to _try_. To forge ahead and live in a world that did not know you as you had come to know yourself – as a leader through the Golden age to a wildly disparate people. You were able to create a gentle _Susan_ who is just as important as the gentle Queen."

"They died," she states bluntly, almost a whisper, clearly still in shock despite his words, blinking around at the caricature graveyard, her mind had created, as if seeing it for the first time. He steps forward and tilts his head in invitation and it's all she needs before her arms are around him and she is sobbing again.

"Susan, _Susan_," he repeats, almost a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. "I know it doesn't seem so. But this will all be all right in time. _You_ will be alright – there is such _strength_ in you."

"They are dead," she repeats, as if caught in a loop, "_all_ dead."

"I died once," he tells her calmly. "You saw it. It wasn't so bad," he shrugs a bit.

Susan chokes on her sob, laughing despite everything at his tone – she pulls away just to look him in the face, then dissolves into giggles (only this side of hysterical) and clutches him tighter burying her head in his mane. Aslan just hums and turns his head a bit returning the embrace in his feline manner and they stay this way for a while.

They have time after all - this is a dream, things such as time are nebulous - and Susan deserves this comfort.


	2. Chapter 2: move and keep moving

Disclaimer: I own nothing. C.S. Lewis owns the Narnia series.

A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

A/N 2: Just so you know, I will be pulling from both the books and the movies.

* * *

She feels a twinge of shame at how short her period of mourning is.

And really, while packing up the house and covering things in plastic tarp Susan tries not to think about it too much. Her room is last and after all packing all her things are in boxes and carrying cases she reaches for a simple black dress she left out to wear.

(_She had automatically put on an old shirt of Edmund's and some tights this morning – as she had often done when she was younger while cleaning – and nearly started crying uncontrollably when she realized this. Holding the well-worn cotton tightly between her hands and biting her lip hard for a very long time before she was able to get any actual work done_).

But then thoughts of Lucy intrude and make her pause. She turns to her suitcase and pulls out bright blue instead, stuffing the dreary black inside roughly and pulling the zipper back sharply.

In the end, who cares what people might think – her sister is dead in this world she will just have to be Valiant (_Magnificent, Just_) for the both of them (_all_).

Smoothing her dress, she smiles at her reflection in the mirror, knowing it a false expression, calmly picks up her suitcase and leaves.

* * *

And then again, she seems to tend to feel guilty about a lot of things, the amount of money she now has at her disposal for one - being the sole beneficiary to five people added up quite a bit. Especially when there was so little left of their bodies that cremation was the only real option which cut down on the funeral costs substantially.

It does give her a kind of freedom though (_which only makes her feel even more terrible about the whole thing_, _a dull ache in her chest as she imagines how her entire family might have been able to use that money. How her mother had frowned over the budget at times while her Father was off fighting_), and she does desperately needs it at the moment – can't stand looking at the walls of her childhood house – has to move and _keep moving_.

This might look like running, might feel like it a bit, _(might be_), but Susan thinks forward momentum might be the only thing that will keep her breathing (_until she doesn't have to anymore_).

* * *

Susan is lonely though – so very very, almost crushingly, lonely - and that is easy to acknowledge in the safe recesses of her own mind. And most of her simply feels she is not meant to be alone - just not quite built for it. (Not in the manner many women her age she hears gossiping merrily would mean that statement either.)

Her hand automatically reaches for that of her little sister when she crosses the street. In the movie theater she will turn to share a teasing remark with her fellow dark haired sibling about the obnoxious character on screen. Sitting and waiting for the bus in the evening she tiredly begins to lean upon the familiar protective form of her older brother….

….only to realize at the last moment that he isn't there. That they are never there any more. And that is always a jarring thing to realize, it feels wrong every time. Makes it hard to breathe for a moment.

Because memories of a life spent shoulder to shoulder with her siblings have never faded – they ruled together and none of them were ever really alone. At first it was because they were so very young. After the danger was over and they were crowned, a mixture of nervousness and excitement at being surrounded by so many odd and new creatures and places was _constant_. Because they were now _responsible_ for them all, the Kings and Queens of this magical place called Narnia – and it was all so much easier to bear when your brother or sister (face so familiar in this strange world, this somehow even stranger situation in which they had found themselves) is beside you. Hand close enough to squeeze tight under the table for comfort if it got too overwhelming.

She finds herself forming her hands into fists sometimes so as not to reach out and link hands with strangers – takes a deep breath, centers herself and forces her fingers to straighten, to become calm and pliant upon her lap.

When she looks back up a man is staring straight at her – his eyes are assessing in a way that is predatory and Susan knows she should be nervous but she returns the stare steadily. She imagines a lion sitting beside her (_can almost feel the brush of soft fur_) and her crown atop her head (_a beautiful thing, made of Narnian gold and heavy despite its delicate pattern_); she keeps her face absolutely blank, and shows no fear in her too-old eyes.

He looks away first.

Orius would have been proud of her. It was part of her first lessons in diplomacy amongst the other species in their realm – how to show dominance. They might speak, but much of the Animals of Narnia's hierarchy was more often shown through things such as body language and pheromones.

She grew to be quite good at it – was the one they always sent to barter with the Wolves. Edmund had experiences in his past to grapple with where the White Queen's former soldiers were concerned, Lucy could become quick to anger at their comments, and Peter simply didn't have the time or patience – it didn't help that it was widely known that he had killed Maugrim. (_And_ _the old Captain wasn't as widely disliked as they might have preferred among those who they were securing as allies.)_

She would walk through their ranks, showing not a speck of fear, and making sure to look the alpha wolf straight in the eye until his head bowed. (Susan the Gentle, she was called, but that was amongst the humans and a smile with teeth showing meant something quite different to predators.)

Under General Orius' tutelage – an odd mixture of diplomacy (which varied widely across species and races), history lessons, and battle tactics - she learned how to sharply control herself, including her reactions, to keep anger or surprise in check. And truly, in those early days, she was the only one with the patience to learn these skills. Lucy, despite being a Queen, was still terribly young, and often simply ran off with Mr. Tumnus (and managed to learn a great deal about those of the Woods along the way). Edmund lost himself in the beauty of Cair Paravel, the sprawling murals in the halls and carefully preserved library (and somehow found Narnian history and law in there as well). And Peter was always pulled this way and that – trying to be the perfect High King, to be everywhere at once and do everything anyone asked.

The three younger siblings would always have to kidnap their eldest brother (an overstated elaborated affair that always alarmed their subjects - _until they eventually finally just got used to it and would just smile, stamp hooves (or paws), and shake their head at the Monarch's_ _antics_ - complete with battle yells and a burlap sack over the startled blonde crowned head). Lock him in a room with them and force him to relax – just talk and play with them for a while. Silly little games with Lucy's carefully homemade playing cards from a life – _an entire world_ - that had slipped away from them more each day.

Nowadays Susan cannot decide whether or not she wishes she could forget. Some days she thinks it would be easier and others she thinks that the memories are the only things getting her through the waking hours.

The nights though – they are always a comfort. She lies in meadow (_on a beach, on a snowy mountain top – piled in blankets, on a planet of pale blue clouds she has never even thought to imagine where she is unsure how her weight is possibly being held up_) with her head cushioned upon a warm, familiar golden-fur covered side.

Sometimes they will simply sit in silence and it is just peaceful, and something in her is able to relax (_With her arms thrown around him, her tight grip in his mane is able to slowly loosen. Because he is here, real enough in this place, in whatever way that matters. And no – no, he isn't going to leave her too_). Often though, they talk (_often she cries_) and slowly, through many conversations, she comes to figure out that she is not the only one feeling guilt.

And it is this – something about this fact _(that perhaps in this, at least, she is not alone_) that allows her to begin to let go of her own intense feelings of culpability _(so many doubts and what ifs that always float around, filling the long days_).

It makes her shamelessly turn from her current reclined position, cut off what he is saying, and hug this being, that she is still unsure whether he is divine (_she is pretty sure he is – but does that truly matter if both of them seem to desperately need a friend?_), and whisper fiercely in his ear, "Shush, Aslan. You've done your best. I'll be all right," pulling away a bit, so she can see his face she says, " – we'll be all right. We're Narnian - a strong sort. Right?" her smirk at throwing his words back at him is thoroughly playful.

He gives a huff of laughter that she can feel as much as hear since she is still using him as a pillow and shakes his head a bit - his mane brushes against her at the action, tickling – and it makes her giggle too.

"I suppose we are, Susan," is his only reply but she can hear the smile in his tone and that is good enough for her.


	3. chapter 3: sure of nothing

Disclaimer: I own nothing. C.S. Lewis owns the Narnia series.

A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

A/N 2: Just so you know, I will be pulling from both the books and the movies.

* * *

The plane ride feels different than the one she took with her parents to America – what feels like a forever ago, a different reality perhaps with a different Susan. She feels so much older now (_ancient, the last of her line – the last Pevensie, the last Narnian – here on Earth_) even though she had felt so much beyond her years then (_a Queen trapped in the body of a teenaged girl forced to grow up all over again_).

Her Mother had been terrified of flying. Susan was completely understanding of this and thought that planes were too tied in both of their brains to the air raids to ever be truly comfortable. (_Now it is trains that hold that fateful place for her – too connected to a certain event, where she lost so many, to ever fill her with anything but tense dread when she is forced to use them._) But her mother had been scared that day, while trying desperately to hide her nervousness and be happy for this vacation.

In the end she sat between Father and her, clutching both of their hands during takeoff, eyes squeezed closed, face tight with tension, breathing in quick sharp pants. Her Father had tried talking to Mother in a fakely cheery tone – speaking of all the wonderful things they would do while on vacation in the _US of A_, but looked lost when this tactic of distraction didn't seem to be helping - he had looked over at Susan desperately.

And she was already moving, crowding in close, turning her Mother's head, topped with hair so similar to her own, with a firm hand, so they held eye contact. "Breathe," she said simply when eyes popped open in surprise (_she unknowing fell into a commanding tone_), letting her own steady in and out inhalations serve as example. "_Breathe_," she repeated the command, nodding encouragement a few moments later when she started to calm.

Settling back into her chair, Susan kept hold of her Mother's hand. "Listen," she whispered, indicating the plane with her free one.

"It's _quiet_," she said after a long moment, something like wonder in her tone. (_And relatively, it was._)

"It is," Susan told her, with a significant look – and the statement had too much feeling. Meant more than it should, encapsulated The Blitz the Mother had to live through (_and send her children away from, not knowing if they would ever see each other again_) and the war the child had stumbled into through a wardrobe, along with her siblings, and then had to fight in because of Prophesy (_and subsequently rule the place they fought for, and then aged – the Mother becoming a beloved but distant dream_).

Both of their eyes had shied away, neither wanted – _or even particularly knew how to_ - have these conversations. So they simply didn't. (But their hands had remained clasped.)

"Thank you," her Father whispered. And Susan looked back up surprised to find him smiling at her. "You'd make a good mother someday," he had reached over and smoothed a bit of her hair behind her ear with his ink-stained fingers. (_They were constantly stained when he was working on another book - and that was the purpose of this lecture series after all. Piles upon piles of notes would accumulate in his office with scribbled lines written and crossed out in ink. It wasn't official to him unless he did it that way._)

"Perhaps someday," she had said and grinned, but felt terribly awkward inside, and then had to again look away, avoid that fondness and pride in his eyes.

Because even then it had felt like she was lying to him and Susan didn't want that, such a large part of her decision to go to America was to spend time with her parents again – and _particularly_ her father, to know who he was now that he was home from the war (_and she was home too – the only home she was to be allowed_).

But she really doesn't think she will ever have a family - back then it felt confusing (_both a missed opportunity from the first time she had been a grown woman and something far in the distance back in this young body again_) and now it seems a cruel dream (_ with her original one snatched away, to build a new family seems only to tempt fate_). So much baggage surrounds her and Susan is quite aware that to even try to explain it to someone would leave her appearing _absolutely insane_. But to not….to not would be to constantly lie in some way, (_it had always felt so wrong to keep it from her parents and she doesn't know - had they lived – if she would have been able to keep it up_) and she doesn't think she could do that to _family_ in the future, a word that almost feels sacred in her mind, has only become more so over time.

So she will simply be alone here in this world – and perhaps someday she will feel at ease with that.

(_And not instead like she is simply lying to herself and the very thought of being truly on her own makes her stomach knot up, brings bile to her throat._)

There is _something_ that is a bit better this plane ride though – instead of a teenager she is twenty-one, and although young looking (_young enough to get strange looks sometimes and carded if she ever dared to try for alcohol_) she is adult enough to move about freely on her own.

And now that she is on the main European continent, she ditches her habit of buses and dips into her fund a bit to buy a car full out. She steamrolls the man who tries to haggle and is utterly unprepared for this young woman to be so calmly intent (_and come with the amount of cash she is prepared to spend_).

Susan is also glad that her boarding school was so insistent on teaching multiple languages, as her Spanish (_although imperfect_) holds up relatively well when she uses it sparingly (_mainly looking serious – while actually listening intently – and giving taciturn, yet pleasant answers_). She does not think her French would do as nicely and is one of the reasons she did not choose that country.

Now _Russian_, she would do better with – her Father had insisted she learn as her summer homework while on vacation since Peter would be studying at Professor Kirke's and it wouldn't be fair if she was to just laze around. (_"You're not just pretty, Susan. You're a smart girl. And they're our Allies, you know."_ ). And she had been desperate to please him, to _bond_ with him, really - which had made her language lessons progress in leaps and bounds. But a jump to the USSR seemed a bit intimidating for her second plane ride – and the first alone.

(_Narnia, of course, always had a strange sort of magic about it – as if that wasn't obvious. But she is certain that Fauns, Centaurs, and a myriad of Animals didn't automatically speak Queen's English. More likely that they were just somehow able to understand them all as such._)

And she thinks she might have chosen well with Spain. She finds she is quite fond of the car she now owns - a SEAT 124 according to the side, but she decides to name the little brown thing "Bow". But that is an odd double edge sword because then every time she looks at it, every time she smooths her hands over the steering wheel, a wave of longing goes through her. A want for that _feel in her muscles_ when she would pull back the string, the _absolute surety_ she would get – even before she released the arrow – that it would go where it _should_.

Susan is sure of nothing today.

With a deep settling breath, she starts the car anyway and with no direction in mind, starts driving.


	4. Chapter 4: something to feel real

Disclaimer: I own nothing. C.S. Lewis owns the Narnia series.

A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

A/N 2: Just so you know, I will be pulling from both the books and the movies.

* * *

She drives here and there with no more direction than she originally had when she jumped bus to bus across the UK - but at least she can sleep in her car and the war rationing of motor fuel has let up. Father had taught her to drive before….well _before_ and she thinks of him a lot on the road.

It had started as another way to get close to him, but through it they also learned how very alike they were in some ways, especially in their need for space. Because she loved her mother very much, but worry made her tend to pick a bit sometimes – _question upon question_, hovering about until you felt smothered (_and hovering around asking things outright as well because to do so would open up wounds not yet healed - and how could she press when there was so much she simply didn't know? Like why her children had the same haunted looks sometimes as her husband who still woke up in the middle of the night shaking sometimes_ ).

And neither Father nor her wanted to snap at what they could see was deep down only kindness. The driving lessons became an opportunity for them to get out of the house (_an exchanged glance when the stress got to thick all that became needed - and neatly circumvented many an argument_), to sit side by side but exchange few words, the easy feel of the other's company all that was necessary.

Susan loved these excursions, that felt so much like an escape from everything (_from pretending to be a teenage girl so very hard when she still felt a woman, from the back and forth of begging and cold looks from her siblings that did not understand what she was doing, from her own self-doubt_), but often felt guilty about this after, she truly did. Because she knew the reason behind that frown on her Mother's face – she wasn't a stupid woman after all– she could see how her family had changed. Her husband back from war and just a bit different because of it and her children – her children _off_, in so many little ways that couldn't simply be chalked up to growing up.

Susan hopes that she gets to understand it all where she is now.

* * *

Time doesn't seem to mean much to her. She drives in the day, in the night – whenever it suits her really. She quickly looses track to the days of the week, and honestly couldn't tell anyone what month it was if they asked her. (She knows by her bodies own cycles that a number of months have gone by though.)

She judges things more these days by grocery stores, gas stations and small restaurants – the need to keep fed, to keep her little car fueled. Other small necessities like keeping clean are easily dealt with - she waits for rain or uses a jug of water (filled from tap – most people are willing to let her refill it for a bit of change), a wash cloth, and soap. It is inelegant but it works.

Susan feels startled once when she sees a reflection of herself in a store window - her hair has grown longer (_she almost doesn't notice anymore the grubby feeling that had troubled her insistently the first two weeks - even a hard washing with soap and water does not clean hair as thoroughly as shampoo and a shower_) and is tied away from her face - and _her face_ – well her face looks rather different without the cosmetics she had grown used to. But after a moment it becomes comforting sight, she looks a bit more _Narnian_ honestly. She had become a woman the first time in a place that they did not have things like make up, or rather not of the same sort as here (and then only occasionally, given as gifts from friends, suitors, or trading partners – there weren't many humans at Cair Paravel after all - not like Archeland, they didn't have much need for such things).

And, like her body, the seasons change – it was just the beginnings of autumn when she buried her family, and she watched leaves change color and fall through bus windows on her zig zaging way through London. Went from the start of winter to the green break of spring in Spain (_bundled under her coat and blankets at night while she slept in Bow_). And now it is summer, the days marked by the heat, her windows open to catch any bit of breeze as she speeds along.

That is mostly what she does - drives, looking out the window. Just looking. Searching, searching for _something_ – she really doesn't know what. There are sprawling beaches (_water never as blue as the Eastern Ocean where they would swim together; Lucy and her ditching elaborate royal dresses to splash and dunk each other. Pulling their soggy dignity around them and coming out with heads held high - and only a bit of giggling - in their salt water sodden slips, to the crossed arms and tapping paw of Mrs. Beaver_), evergreen forests (_with not a single dryad dancing playfully between the trees. None to spin close, trailing leaves, and whisper in Peter's ear making him blush before skipping away with a wink - and leaving the rest of the siblings to converge upon him, teasing and asking questions for the rest of the day_), picturesque white village houses (_so very different from those she had known built directly into the land. Certainly no Mr. Tumnus to share a cup of tea with on a stressful day, just sitting by the fire and listening stories of his youth._), and gorgeous old architecture (_that just doesn't look quite right – the angles off somehow._).

She parks and sits out on the hood of her car, with her back against the windshield, near the sharp mountains - listens for a long time for the bellows of the Western Wild…but this just _isn't Narnia_ so she doesn't hear anything.

When she pushes herself back onto the ground and gets into Bow it has gotten dark and she feels cold, stiff and a little foolish. But Susan wants so desperately for something to feel real here, to click for her, to make her feel a part of all this again.

But instead it's just incredibly beautiful and she still feels empty.

* * *

"You're crying again, Susan," are the first words that pass between them that night and she can hear the heaviness in his tone, the layers of guilt. And she has been there with him in this current dreamscape for awhile – all silvery planes of glass and odd rapidly growing vines – just curled against him crying silently. Usually she would rush to reassure him, but tonight - tonight, she just _can't_.

"I think you're wrong, Aslan," is what she says in reply, without looking up. "Not about the crying," she cuts him off when she can feel his body move to start to speak and gives a smile that does not even reach half-hearted. "I have definitely been doing _that_. I mean about _me_."

She pauses then and he gives her space to think – they both watch the vines move at their quick rate, intertwining and then separating, even seeming to fight each other at times.

"It's just," she begins, carding her fingers through his fur with a sigh, before settling them tightly in her lap nervously instead, "I don't think I can do this," she admits, swallowing hard but then moving on quickly, afraid if she doesn't get it all out, she won't be able to say it. "I don't think I can find a bit of Narnia or even a place for myself here. I just want somewhere I can be _useful_ again. But I can't seem to settle, to connect, to do _anything_ really." Her words came faster and faster as she stared at her hands hard. "Nothing feels _real_ -," the last word was whispered, like a confessed secret, "and I can't find my use here, my reason," she paused then and looked up then. Stared in his solemn eyes, "Aslan, I don't think I _have_ one. I don't think I truly _fit_ in this world."

He doesn't speak for a few beats and they just hold that eye contact. Then he gives a big sigh, part sadness, part guilt, part fondness (_she is used to interpreting his sighs_). "Susan, I know how much you _feel_ – the emptiness and sadness that make your days seem so very long," her head dipped down again as her throat felt tight at his words, the _truth_ in them. She thinks sometimes that he forgets how much people feel when he speaks, the fact that just his name resonates in people.

"But," he continued and she looked back up, "it hasn't really been very _long_." She glanced up sharply, ready to argue but he gave her a stern look that made her hold her tongue. "You have lost _so much_, Daughter of Eve – more than any should - don't be so impatient, give your mind time to heal before you expect yourself ready to move on with your own life. It has experienced trauma as strong as any physical wound."

"How long?" she asked, feeling very small, very desperate – the sort of exact measurement of time that had dropped out of meaning for her was now so horribly important. If she could only tie down to the day, hour, _minute_ when this would end. "How long until I stop feeling like this. _So empty_," it was practically an exhalation of breath for her.

"Susan," he said and it was an apologetic sound (_but his look of sadness and hurt made her wonder if he feels too much when she speaks as well, if he simply feels everything as strongly as he projects_) and she knew that this was something she would have to figure out on her own.

"You will still be here though – like this," her voice wavered a bit at the thought of losing him too and she fought herself to keep it firm. "I'll still get to talk to you in my dreams at night?" she wanted to make sure of it. Everything felt off right now and she needed to keep track of the one solid thing she had.

"Yes," he said, with a surprising ferocity that almost had her flinching back (he was a lion, after all), "of course Susan. I will always be here for you in any way I can."


End file.
